


Why Do I Do This?

by IdrisSmith



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Assassination, F/M, Mentioned of Murder, Warstan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-04
Updated: 2016-07-04
Packaged: 2018-07-21 14:15:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7390480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IdrisSmith/pseuds/IdrisSmith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Her life was made up of never-ending horrors. She had seen hundreds if not thousands of damage left behind in which she could only describe as a carnage of hell by men (and women) she was sent to finish. It was her job, her duty to put an end to the pain and suffering of millions. She was doomed to walk the thin line between good and evil, the grey area where she questioned her morale compass time and time again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Why Do I Do This?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [daisherz365](https://archiveofourown.org/users/daisherz365/gifts).



> Because I wanted to write Mary.

Her life was made up of never-ending horrors. She had seen hundreds if not thousands of damage left behind in which she could only describe as a carnage of hell by men (and women) she was sent to finish. It was her job, her duty to put an end to the pain and suffering of millions. She was doomed to walk the thin line between good and evil, the grey area where she questioned her morale compass time and time again.

 

_Why do I do this?_

 

The question had plagued her for years. No, if she was honest, the question had been at the back of her mind since the first time she pulled the trigger on a not so nice man. Oh, but to the world he was a philanthropist, a loving husband and a doting father. And she, the nameless evil was responsible for turning a woman into a widow and taking a good father from a child was to blame. If only they knew the blood dripping from the pages of the man’s black book. They didn’t, they never cared and she was the villain.

 

_Why do I do this?_

 

She asked as she weighed out the pros and cons of the lives of many over the life of one. The question lingered as she watched a small boat carrying innocent lives blew up just under a hundred of meters from the dock, taking out her targets with them. She wished she could justify it, the young women she had to sacrifice in order to end the horror. Yet, she didn’t. Sentiment was not a luxury she could afford along with strings of things she had learned to sacrifice as the years went on.

 

They must have had families, they must have had someone who would miss them – unlike her. But, she chose not to spare another thought as she turned and left before the authorities could spot her. She wondered if that made her a monster. Was she a monster? She certainly didn’t shed any tears for the lives lost. Whether they were justified or innocent, her war was for the greater good.

 

She was Alice, Oliva, Pamela, Imogen and so many more. She can’t even remember what the original colour of her hair was – she never could just let them grow without recolouring them, she quite like being a redhead for about a month when she was in deep cover. No, that would be a mistake. Between one mission after another and the ever changing skies, she had to constantly remain vigilant.

 

_Why do I do this?_

 

She wished she could answer the question as she looked out of her hotel room in yet another city. Another city meant another job. The same job repeated over and over again with different targets and several adjustable variables. It never seemed to end. With each target she took out, one or more seemed to have sprouted to take its place. It was like cutting the head of a Lernaean Hydra and she wondered just how much evil there was in the world for people to want to hurt others for their own gain.

 

_Why do I do this?_

 

It was a hard question to avoid as she painted a target behind the back of a human trafficker, drug lord and all around opportunist. Her stomach turned as she studied him over the course of two days. She was patient, the job had to be finished cleanly. For the many years she had served the agency, she could always brush anything off. Her hands had been stained by the blood of so many, she wondered what pit of hell would she ended up in – not that she believed in those, heaven and hell, not really.

 

_Why do I do this?_

 

She thought as she read the details of her next assignment. The picture of an unassuming young man looked back at her when she opened the jpeg attachment. She read the name and the short profile with relevant details attached with it. A son, they were sending her to kill someone’s son.

 

_Why do I do this?_

She saw the report of the man’s death as she waited for her flight, under a different name than what she arrived as just a week before. The young man’s family and friends mourned, never knowing better. The lies were fed and the world moved on never knowing the horrible things someone could inflict on someone else’s child for luxury.

 

And yet, she was the devil.

 

Was she? She certainly never asked herself that question. Never that, but always…

 

_Why do I do this?_

 

Staring down the barrel of a gun cleared her perspective rather quickly. She didn’t flinch or shown any sign she was affected by the betrayal of the person before her. In her line of work, there was only two ways out, getting killed doing the right thing and getting killed by becoming the monster they are trained to vanquish. There was no middle ground, unless if she purged who she was and become someone else entirely.

 

“Anna.”

 

Her name sounded sinful falling from the lips of the woman standing across her. Very few people remembered she was Anna. Very few indeed as many had precede her, meeting their end long ago.

 

“Still serving the Federation, I see…”

 

It was a game and whoever give in first would lose. She knew her life was at stake and she could’ve easily been killed, but Galina had always liked to chat. And that, would work in her favour. Her mind races as she studied her former comrade. Loyalties for someone like them had always been ever changing and she was the anomaly. All she ever wanted was to do the right thing, her job and perhaps alleviate some of the pain as she does, but not the woman before her.

 

“You’ve lost your touch, old friend,” she said, calm.

 

Galina snickered, shifting the weigh from one feet to another. With a slight curt, she sent her company away, leaving them alone.

 

Always one to make foolish theatrical moves.

 

“Have I?” There was heavy sarcasm in Galina’s tone.

 

“Well, your information is certainly out of date,” she replied, still not moving a muscle.

 

She watched as her friend’s face formed a smile, “Ah, you’ve gone freelance.”

 

And she chose not to respond.

 

“You were always the one with very few words, Anna.”

 

“And yours one too many.”

 

“How much was it?” Galina asked with mock curiosity, “the bounty on my head.”

 

She couldn’t help but smile at Galina for that question, it was so like her. Her (Galina) life, as much as there was to remember, had always been about value of thing. It wasn’t surprising for her to want to know what her end cost. Even as they stood there, barely moving, both knew it was an end for Galina. She was better than her old friend, always the better strategist, the better shot and better at knowing there was a line between what was right and what was wrong.

 

A smile was all Galina was going to get out of her. Part of her wondered what happened to those who changed their sides, their reasons and what broke them. Something must’ve snapped, she certainly had, but her choice was different than Galina.

 

“So, it is a favour for an old friend…”

 

Perhaps there was something of which Galina excelled better than her, but the outcome of the meeting had already been decided long before the two of them even walked into the old building. She didn’t answer, letting the question hang. She owed nothing and no explanation, it was just a job.

 

It was just a job and a way out.

 

“I hope you find what you’re looking for, Anna.”

 

The sincerity nearly broke her, but before a word could pass from her lips, Galina’s body collapsed to the ground. She titled her head up, a flicker from the scope told her the location of the shooter. She sighed, nodding, bidding her silent farewell to who she was. It was strange to walk into a place as someone she had been for nearly two decades only to walk out as someone completely different. Still, she shed no tears nor did she mourn as she walked from the body of an old friend which was slowly turning cold.

 

She found out months later that her natural hair colour was blonde as she settled in a different city with a different name, the name she chose to live by. For the first time in nearly two decades, she lived without looking over her shoulder. Galina would have laughed at her chosen profession, but as she helped one person after another, who she was started to fade into the background, what remained was a history that was tucked within a USB.

 

With all her might, she tried to live a life that the child that never get to see the light of day would be proud of, the one she took her name from. Before she knew it, years fade from one into another and she was no longer Anna.

 

And the question no longer lingered, even at the back of her mind.

 

“Nurse Morstan.”

 

She turned when she heard her name and smiled when she saw the owner of the voice, an older nurse with the temperament of a grandmother. “Nurse Harrington.”

 

“I’m just giving our new doctor a tour,” Nurse Harrington said, gesturing to the man next to her.

 

The first thing she noticed was how sad the man looked and she wondered what could have possibly transpired for anyone to wear such solemn expression. He didn’t appear to be lacking to her with his pressed and fairly new attire. Even through his sadness there was something she recognize. The kind only worn by those who had fought in war and live to tell the tale. And in that moment, she wished she could chase away his sorrow.

 

“Mary Morstan,” she said as she held out her hand for him to shake. A smile was wide on her face, hoping it was infectious enough to entice him to do the same.

 

It did. A smile was formed on his face, though it didn’t reach his eyes was a start, as he reached to take her hand and introduced himself.

 

“John Watson.”


End file.
